Drowning in Blue
by Depressed Dalek
Summary: It’s been three months since she’s seen him, three months since she last felt the flash of blue eyes on her face.  Three months have passed and she is healing.  HouseCameron.
1. Chapter 1

She is proud of herself.

It's been three months since she's seen him, three months since she last felt the flash of blue eyes on her face. Three months have passed and she is healing.

One week and her resolve crumpled. She had called him at his house. It was still early in the day, she reasoned. Maybe he would still be at work and she could leave a message.

_"Hi, this is Cameron. I know we've had our differences, but I figure now's as good as time as any to meet for coffee. How about Sandrine's at eight?"_

She had hung up when she heard his voice.

He knew, the sly bastard, and she knew. And he knew that she knew that he knew. And that's why she never called him again.

Two weeks and her mood is starting to improve. She can look in the mirror without feeling disgusted with herself. This is good. This is change.

At night, though, when the moonlight is her only witness, she empties her eyes into her pillow for want of...what? How can she want something she never had?

Three weeks and she decides more change is in order. She gets a new job in the Emergency Wing. She sees Chase for pleasure, but not for sex. She begins to understand a difference between the two.

She also sees the threads of influence he had looped around her starting to slacken. She finds she likes feeling free. She reads.

A month passes and she has forgotten the phone number she had half-dialed almost every night of the last year. The familiar, curving digits that seemed to her such an ironic companion to a stark, angular man slipped into the recesses of her mind, right next to a clear image of his face.

She dreams of him still, but doesn't admit it. Admission would lead to regret and regret would lead to either House's ego or Chase's bed, two places she had vowed never to be again.

Two months have passed and she has met Matthew, a charming artist with a penchant for painting her nude, though he draws mostly from imagination. They met over coffee and for the next two weeks, Cameron basked in the flattery, the quick sketches, the shy, but roving eyes of a man whose vision of her was tainted by infatuation. She would never have to hear the truth from him if she so wished it.

Three months. She celebrates with wine and Matthew. They dine late, he leaves early. She spends a few minutes cleaning his presence out of her kitchen, pausing to admire the sketch of herself on a napkin, the margin of a newspaper. She is proud of herself. She has almost forgotten him. All but the blue. The blue will haunt her forever.

The door sounds, a heavy, hollow tap. Twice, then again. Hesitant. She thinks it is Matthew retrieving a forgotten item and opens the door.

That is when she sees him for the first time in three months. She has vowed to forget him, to erase him from her mind.

But when she opens the door, all she sees is blue.

_Reviews are always lovely!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, thanks for all the reviews! A warning, this chapter contains very tiny spoilers for 4x03._

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Two_

She should throw him out; be angry, indignant. She should demand that he leave her property immediately or she will call the police.

"Hi," she says. Her voice is awkward.

He raises an eyebrow at her attire, tight black pants and a low cut, wine colored blouse. "Hot date?"

"Lukewarm," she replies. She wants to get back to her cleaning, but is stilled by his eyes upon her. She had forgotten how very blue they were.

"Chase?"

She can't read him. "No."

He lets himself in, limping past her into her kitchen. Sharp eyes catch the sketches, the wine.

"No," he agrees. "Chase can't draw a stick figure. Who is he?"

His back is to her and in a moment of weakness, she lets herself admire the taut muscle under skin.

He turns to face her, the newspaper in his hand, the question in his eyes.

"What do you want, House?"

He limps closer, not stopping until the base of his cane is resting against her shoe.

"Who is he?" He is curious and leans into her.

"Ma...Matthew," she says, unable to move. She is not free. She was kidding herself. Did she really think she could get this man out of her system in three months?

"Matthew," he repeats. Behind his eyes, she can see him forming a picture of the artist.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing!" She bristles defensively.

"Then why are you dating him?"

She is finally able to look away. She really doesn't want to answer that.

"House, why are you here?" She asks, taking the opportunity to slip past him and resume cleaning.

He leans heavily on his left side and begins tapping her tile with his cane.

"Maybe (thud) I wanted (thud) to see you (thud thud thud)."

She snorts derisively. "Sing me another."

"(thud) I don't sing (thud) unless (thud) I'm drunk (thud thud) at Christmas parties (thud)."

Exasperated, she digs her fists into her hips and looks at him. She regrets it almost immediately. The light blue shirt he is wearing does everything for him and he knows it. He smirks ever so slightly.

"Why do you think I'm here?"

She is relieved he has let Matthew alone for now.

"I don't know. I can't read your mind."

His brow furrows. "Oh, don't worry. Even if you could, you wouldn't find anything interesting. Just imagining you in a bikini (thud thud thud thud thud)."

"House."

"(thud) Seventeen year old boy. (thud) Not cute, so you don't need to see him. He has joint pain, a rash and myocarditis."

"Why are you asking me?"

(Thud)

"Why don't you ask your new team?"

(Thud)

"I quit because I didn't want to be on your team, House!"

(Thud thud thud)

"Oh, shut up!" She moves forward and presses her hand over his to still the cane. His hand is warm.

He steps closer to her, his breath soft on her face. She wills herself not to blush.

"What's the diagnosis, Cameron?" His voice has entered the dark, stumbling ranges of a whisper.

"Could be lupus." Hers is losing its edge.

"Cameron...it's never lupus." He leans forward and picks up her unfinished wine from the counter. He turns it until the imprint of her lipstick is facing him. He drinks, bright eyes never leaving hers.

She has to move. She has to get space. He's too close.

He notices her lean and presses completely against her, framing her between her counter and his body.

She is trembling now and knows that the arm around her waist is aware of it. The wineglass is cool against her back.

She tries to hold perfectly still against him. He lowers his lips to her exposed collarbone and slowly drags them up her neck, pausing a moment to suck on her earlobe. With a cross between a groan and a sigh, she tilts her head away from him, allowing newly-blonde hair to fall out of his agonizing path to her lips. The feeling of his stubble alone is enough to make her weak.

He works his way past her ear, along her jaw. His tongue barely leaves a trail as he pauses over her lips.

"I really do like your hair," he says. He is so close that looking at him is giving her a headache. Instead, she closes her eyes and leans forward to meet his lips with her own.

She meets air. By the time she opens her eyes, her door is closing and he is already gone.

_Reviews are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for all the great responses! After this chapter, the rating goes to M. Also, heads up, this is my own version of season four, since Cameron and Chase are very obviously not dating (for good reason!!)_

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Three_

"Stupid!" The china plates clank loudly as they are thrown into the sink.

"Stupid!" The silverware follows the same path the china took.

"Stupid!" The wineglass lingers between her fingers, the last drops sliding towards the rim, where both their lips had touched.

The imprint crumbled as the wineglass slips from her grasp and spreads across the floor.

She winces as a shard manages to nick her ankle. Cursing all the way to the medicine cabinet, she balances on one foot and reaches up into it, pulling out antiseptic and a band-aid. Leaning against her counter, she cleans and covers the cut before sweeping up the glass and throwing it away.

She pauses now, breathing deeply in an attempt to calm herself.

"This is stupid, Allison. You don't care about him. Let it go," she says to herself.

She hangs her head, watching as blonde locks slip past her shoulder and swing before her eyes.

_"I really do like your hair,"_ he had said. She closes her eyes and picks up her cell phone from the living room table.

The next afternoon, she is sitting in a plush chair, watching her hairdresser move behind her. She is skeptical. "Hon, you're sure you want to do this? It's such lovely, long hair."

She nods firmly. "Do it." She is sick of having Chase's dishwater blonde locks, sick of dressing herself up in the hopes of catching House's attention.

When she leaves an hour and a half later, she is not immune to the stares she is getting from men. They rush to her head, giving her a euphoric high. If only he could see her now...

She can tell Matthew doesn't like it, though. In his mind, all women should have long blonde hair. This new look of hers, a medium layered cut of dark auburn doesn't match his ideals at all.

It's one of many things that leads to their breakup. That and the fact that Cameron's attitude has started a complete 180 regarding Greg House.

Two weeks later, she laughs as she sprawls on her couch, sipping a hearty glass of cool red wine. She imagines that it stains her lips, making them fuller and darker, the very promise of a kiss. It is late, almost midnight, when she sets the glass down, finds the keys to her car and drives.

It isn't long before she pulls in front of House's house. She giggles. House's house. Enough alcohol and even that's funny.

But she doesn't lie to herself. She knows how much wine she can stomach and she isn't drunk, not even close.

Instead, she studies his house. The lights are off and for a brief moment, she hesitates. She'd look a bit foolish if she had come all this way and he wasn't home.

She steps out of her car and notices that it smells like rain.

As she pauses in front of the door, she can hear the faintest strains of a piano being played. The tune is low, almost muted behind the thick door. She knocks twice and waits.

The tune stops abruptly and she hears him move, follows the thump of the cane to the door.

He opens it and cannot speak.

She pushes past him and enters his sanctuary. A glass of scotch rests on top of the piano. She picks it up and takes a sip for dramatic effect.

Slowly, he closes his door, dark eyes starting at her face and slowly working their way down her body.

Her hair is dark auburn and frames her face in loose, full curls. Her makeup is dark, not overly so, but it makes her eyes almost as blue as his. She is wearing a dark charcoal top that dips sharply into her cleavage. She thanks God for push up bras. So does he.

A tight black leather miniskirt emphasizes shapely legs and the entire outfit is topped off with a pair of four inch "fuck me" heels.

He meets her gaze and is unnerved by her blazing eyes and slight smirk.

Slowly, she stalks over to him, hair brushing her back as she moves.

The ice in the scotch clinks softly. She doesn't stop until she is barely an inch away from him.

"House," she breathes.

"Cameron," he says back, his voice a low growl.

"Why did you leave, House?"

He watches her as she takes another sip, drawing an ice cube into her mouth. It rests briefly on her lips before disappearing into her warm mouth. He watches an arrant drop of scotch waver on her lips before being herded into her mouth by her tongue.

He swallows.

"You haven't answered my question," she says, her voice low and sultry.

"And you're dressed like a hooker. What do you really want?" He says, his gaze not moving from hers.

"What do I want..." She puts one elegant finger against her mouth in mock thought.

"I want..." She moves the finger to his right thigh, slowly grazing the denim-covered scar with her fingernail.

"I want you to understand what you're toying with," she purrs.

The fingernail moves up to caress his hipbone. He shivers at the contact.

"I want you to stop pretending this doesn't mean anything to you," she says.

The nail digs into his side briefly before running up his shirt. He can feel the trail of fire she is creating move up his body, following her finger.

"I want you...to finish what you started," she whispers, moving close enough that he can feel her breath on his lips.

He dips his head to hers, eager to kiss her, eager to push past the flirting, the blazing glances and the slippery moments in a hot shower.

"But not tonight," she says, pulling back and turning, leaving his house.

He stands very still and notices two things.

It has begun to rain.

She had taken his scotch.

_Reviews are lovely and appreciated!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Four_

He wants his scotch back.

He goes to her apartment. It is late, almost two, but the lights are on. He can almost see through her thin curtains from the street. It's as if she anticipated his arrival. He parks his bike and limps towards the door.

On the floor in front of her door is his scotch glass, empty but for a few drops of rain and framed by a line of burgundy lipstick. He picks it up and turns it in his fingers.

He could leave now. He has what he came for.

He knocks.

She answers.

For a moment, all they do is stare at the other, each unwilling to be the first to look away.

"What do you want?" She says finally.

He holds up the scotch glass, flips it, and slips it into his pocket. "Came for my glass."

She watches him, the faintest glimmer of distress crossing her face.

"Is that all?"

Blue eyes seem to flash, but he dips his head and she can no longer see into his soul.

"What did you expect?" he says, resigned. He stares at his frayed shoelaces.

She bites her lip, but doesn't answer.

"I can't give you what you need."

"You can give me what I want," she counters.

"What, sex? Companionship at the most. You deserve more." His shoelaces don't appreciate his bitter stare.

"House..." Her voice, soft, prompts him to lift his head, to meet her eyes. Despite her attire and the smoldering appearance, she is soft, fragile.

He fears she will break if he touches her.

"House, you want me. You know I want you. You're complicating this," she said, lightly touching his arm.

"I like complicated. Chicks dig it. Brooding stranger wins over pretty boy doctor with fantastic hair any day."

She smiles.

"Then I'll complicate it for you. You like puzzles, don't you?"

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side, studying her face.

"Find out three things about me that I've never told anyone else. I don't care how you do it. All's fair."

"You want me to dig three secrets out of you?" he says, surprised.

"You can do it any way you want." Her suggestive look is not lost on him.

He considers it a moment and then extends his hand. "It's a deal."

They clasp hands a bit longer than necessary.

When he has returned home, he pulls the scotch glass out of his pocket. It is warm from resting against his thigh, but the thin line of lipstick remains.

He sets it on top of his piano and begins to play.

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are appreciated. I love hearing from you guys._


	5. Chapter 5

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Five_

Allison Cameron smiles.

The sun is rising, but she has not slept.

Instead, she spent the night on the couch, her gaze moving between the kitchen and her door, the two places she and House had spoken.

She is planning.

She has him interested. As complex as he is, she knows House can never resist a puzzle.

She also knows exactly what will happen. House will attempt to tease information from her. She will resist. He will resort to dirty tactics, trade secrets with her.

They will probably have sex.

And slowly, she will seemingly open her heart to him and he will fall in love.

He will not admit it though. He hides behind such pride, such arrogance that he will pretend it's just lust, just another addiction.

Here, she will change tactics, moving from soft and vulnerable lover to a firm believer in him. He will be inspired, he will strive to better himself. He will change for her.

She smiles, imagining him extending to her in his cupped hands his heart. It is a covetous heart, a damaged heart.

He will beg her to take his heart and place it next to her own for safekeeping.

And here, the illusion will fade, the pattern will change.

He trusts her to hold his heart. He trusts her to keep it safe.

Instead, she lets it fall.

She imagines with relish the sound it will make as it hits the ground with a sickening splat.

He will be stunned for a moment and a moment is all she needs to break his heart.

For she thinks she is stronger than this. Too many times has she allowed him power over her mind, her body.

It's time for her to take the power back.

/\/\/\/\/\

Gregory House frowns.

He has never missed that chord before.

He glances at the clock, tired eyes taking a moment too long to comprehend the glowing numbers. He has been playing all night.

He tries again and misses again.

Odd, he thinks. Something is different.

The thought is brushed from his mind as he limps to bed.

The frown is more persistent, though. It lingers until he finally forces his eyes to close.

Finally, he sleeps.

_Sorry this is so short, but there wasn't much else I could do with this chapter. Another one will be up in a few days. Hope everyone enjoyed!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Wow, I'm glad everyone liked the twist! _

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Six_

"You what?"

James Wilson is incredulous. House is uncharacteristically silent.

"She what?"

He rolls his eyes. "I am not repeating myself."

Wilson jabs his salad with his fork. "So you're dating now?"

"No. It's not dating. I just have to get her to tell me three things."

"Sounds a lot like dating to me." Wilson is suspicious. "I think she's playing you."

House bristles. "She is not playing me."

Wilson raises his fork in a defensive gesture. "Don't get me wrong, she had a thing for you once. But you can only spurn a woman so many times before she just wants to get even. She's playing you."

"You would know, wouldn't you?" he remarks snidely, finishing his sandwich and putting the plate onto Wilson's tray.

"So how are you going to get the secrets out of her?"

House wiggles his eyebrows and stands, limping out of the dining hall. It takes Wilson a few moments to gather his things, bus his tray and catch up with House. When he does, he is slightly unnerved by his smile.

"What...are you up to?"

"Much to learn you do have," House says, looking sage.

Wilson is exasperated. "So why aren't you worried?"

"Because you can't play a player." He is very smug now.

Wilson stops. "Wait..."

House keeps walking.

"You're playing her? And she thinks she's playing you?"

He keeps walking.

"You know, this is almost screwed up enough to be a relationship for you!" Wilson calls, watching his friend wave once before limping into the elevator.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he says softly.

Cameron is leaning over a file, speed reading. He has taught her efficiency, but she keeps her empathetic nature, if only to spite him. She makes herself care, even when a tiny voice inside of her says she shouldn't.

"What does that guy have to do to make you hate him?"

House's voice rings as clear as it had when he had first spoken those words.

Hate him...yes, she hates House.

If she says she hates him, she can pretend that his lips on her skin didn't arouse her at all.

If she says she hates him, she can pretend that the small shards of vulnerability that peek through his gruff skin don't mean anything to her.

If she says she hates him, she can pretend that hearing her name on his lips doesn't make her scalp tighten with anticipation.

She turns to face him.

"What are you doing tonight?"

"Well, I-"

"Cancel it. We're going to dinner. I'll pick you up at 8:00."

He swivels, his weight on his cane, and begins to walk away.

"What should I wear?" Good, she didn't sound too eager.

He glances over his shoulder and she can see the hint of a grin on his face.

"Paint clothes. Something you don't mind getting dirty."

"Are we going to get dirty?" she asks innocently.

He turns to study her and she can feel herself begin to color under his intense gaze. Finally, he breaks the gaze and limps away without answering.

Later in his office, he spins his cane between his fingers.

_"Are we going to get dirty?"_ He replays her question in his mind.

"You have no idea," he murmurs, the slightest smile tugging at his lips.

_And that's chapter six! Since this was short, I'll have another one up in a few days. The first date (technically third, if you count the monster trucks and the disaster that was Love Hurts) is coming up in chapter seven. As always, thanks for reading. Reviews are treasured._


	7. Chapter 7

_Here you go! A nice long chapter. Enjoy!_

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Seven_

She has changed outfits seven times before finally selecting a pair of cut off shorts and a light blue tank top. Her hair is pulled off her face in a ponytail, the faint stray wisps of bangs framing and softening her face.

Simple, she thinks. Too simple. Maybe she should add a necklace?

But if they are going to get dirty, simple is always better.

She wavers.

The lavender tank top...

But there is no more time to change her mind because a short beep calls her to attention.

He is here. Clearly, his outfit took less time than hers. He looks the same.

He watches her leave the building, taking the opportunity to run his eyes over her shapely legs while she puts her keys in her purse.

He tosses her a helmet and she slides behind him. This time, he doesn't have to move her arms around him. She molds against his back like a little Cameron-shaped tumor, all smiles.

"So where are we going?"

He doesn't respond, just kicks off and drives into the night.

/\/\/\/\

The bar that he pulls up to is crowded with bikes and cars. House eases into a parking spot next to a huge Harley, pauses, and then turns and parks next to a Beetle Bug.

"What? It's sensitive," he says as he detaches his cane from the side. She giggles and follows him inside. Part of her wants to reach for his free hand, but she stops herself.

Inside, the bar is smoky and hot. She feels at least three people brush very awkwardly against her before House grabs her, slips his arm around her waist and walks them to the bar.

"Excuse me! Pardon me! Sober girl coming through. Back off pal, she's mine."

She glows a bit at that.

"Whadda want?" says the exceedingly hairy bartender.

"Two scotches," House orders.

She turns her head to peer up at him quizzically.

"You seemed to like mine so much, I figured you'd want another one."

She blushes.

"So what do we do here?" She has to yell to be heard over the screaming crowd that seems to have clustered in the center of the bar.

"It's jell-o wrestling every Tuesday. Did I forget to mention that?"

"House! I am not wrestling another girl!" she exclaims, slapping his hand and reaching for her scotch.

"As hot as that would be, no. I don't share." The whiskey hits the back of his throat with a satisfying burn. Two Vicodin follow it down.

"You're wrestling me." He looks even more intimidating upside down.

She twists in his grasp to look him eye to eye and pretends she can't feel the curve of his muscles under his t-shirt.

"You're twice my size."

"Eat more."

"But then, you do have a bum leg," she says slyly, meeting his eyes over the rim of her glance.

He smiles slightly as the Vicodin kicks in.

"See? We're even. Of course, I won't go easy on you just because you're a girl."

"Care to wager on the outcome?" she ventures.

"What did you have in mind?" He tries to sound relaxed, casual.

"Oh, open bet."

"Allison..." his voice is low and the rumble against her chest is enough to make her knees weak.

"An open bet is a very dangerous thing."

"Danger? Hah! I live for danger." She isn't sure where that came from, but it makes him smile, so she doesn't care.

"You're on."

She watches as he limps away, holding up the money it takes to get in.

Fifteen minutes later, she is up to mid-calf in cherry jell-o. She wiggles her toes experimentally and is amused by the sensation it invokes.

"Five bucks on the crip," a voice behind her says.

"Are you kidding me? That chick will be all over him."

House grins at her, heavily favoring his left side. The "referees" wouldn't allow him to bring his cane in, so he was guarding his weak spot.

"Begin!"

They stand for a moment, each waiting for the other to move. Finally, she rushes him as best she can. Her bare feet can hardly get enough traction to move.

He laughs at her and scoops up a handful of jell-o.

"Don't you dare!"

"Cameron, I told you we would get dirty," he says as he hurls it towards her.

She shrieks as the cold slime hits her right in the chest. Typical.

"You are dead!"

She picks up smaller handfuls and throws them without aiming.

He ducks a particularly jiggly projectile and begins to slink towards her. By the time she realizes what he is doing, he is already behind her.

"Cameron..." he breathes, licking a bit of jell-o from her earlobe.

She shivers.

He dumps another handful down the back of her shirt. She screams again and falls against him, taking them both down.

She scrambles to pin him beneath her. The jell-o is just past his ears.

"You're too clean, House," she smirks, dumping jell-o onto his chest and rubbing it around.

His hands close around her wrists and she is pulled down so that his nose is barely an inch from hers.

"Open bet Cameron. You're about to lose."

"Wha-?"

Ignoring the muted pain from his thigh, he rolls them, pinning her hands above her head while rubbing jell-o up and down her arms.

"1...2...3! We have a winner!"

House grinned and stood, holding out his hand to help her up. When she has enough faith in her legs to hold her up, she follows him out of the pit and over to a corner.

A man, slightly buzzed, appears out of nowhere, holding House's cane.

"Here you go, pretty girl. Give your boyfriend back his cane," he says.

Boyfriend? She can't move her fingers to take the cane.

"Thank you," House says, reaching around her for it.

"No, thank you. I won free drinks for betting on you," he says with a laugh.

The easy rhythm they had fallen into seemed to have stopped.

Boyfriend...

"Come on, let's get cleaned off," he says, peeling off his jell-o soaked shirt.

She watches as he grabs a wet washcloth and runs it briskly over his hands and arms before moving to his chest.

She doesn't realize he is watching her too until it's too late.

"Like what you see?" he says with an exaggerated wink.

"I don't know. It's an older model," she replies, picking up her own washcloth.

"But very sleek and stylish."

She peels off her own ruined tank top, earning her a few whistles from the patrons. House scowls.

"Jealous?" she says, running the washcloth over her collarbone.

His eyes are very bright.

"Cameron," he says, limping towards her. "You mentioned an open bet..."

"Yes?" she breathes. At this point, she doesn't care what he asks. She just wants him. She wants to feel him, to fuck him and know him in every way a woman can know a man.

She can feel the heat of his body as he closes the last few fingers of distance between them.

"Cameron...you owe me a secret," he whispers smugly.

That's it?

"That's all you want to claim?" She's willing to sound a little shameless.

"For now."

"Alright, fine," she says dejectedly. "If you must know..."

"Actually, you started this," he points out.

"Fine! Whatever! If you must know, I am deathly afraid of cotton balls."

He tilts his head. "Cotton balls? We use those all the time in clinic."

"No, those are the pads. They're pressed, so it isn't as bad. I'm talking about the big fluffy nasty ones that cling to your fingers and get in your eyes and just UGH!"

He laughs. He is laughing at her.

Not your wisest move, Greg House.

"It's not funny!" she exclaims. "I hate them. They're evil, you know."

"Right. They're out to get you," he says, still chuckling.

"Damn straight."

For her embarrassment, she can't meet his eyes.

A finger under her chin brings her gaze back to him.

"Thank you," he says seriously, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers in a faint imitation of their first kiss. The gentleness of the gesture does nothing to diminish its power over her and before she can respond, it is over and House is pulling his shirt back on.

They dress in silence and thirty minutes later, she is standing on the sidewalk, watching him speed away.

At the stop sign, he turns and watches her enter the apartment building. With a sigh, he revs the engine and drives on.

_Reviews are always appreciated. I hope everyone liked it! See you soon._


	8. Chapter 8

_Okay by soon, I meant about two months later. Sorry about that! Here's the next chapter._

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Eight_

Cameron paces idly as she waits for her bathtub to fill. Her ruined clothes lay in a pile on the tile floor. She would have to remember to throw them away or she'd get ants.

As much as she hates to admit it, she had enjoyed herself tonight.

She is about to climb into the tub when her cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Allison Cameron?" a distinctly male voice asks.

"This is she. Who is this?"

"Is your refrigerator running?"

Cameron pauses. "House?"

"Maybe."

She sighs, trying to feign annoyance.

"And you look fantastic naked, by the way."

"House!" Cameron exclaims, whirling around in her bathroom. There are no windows.

"Bet you're wondering how I know that, right?"

"I am a bit curious," she admits. Looking at herself in the mirror, she sees that a blush had risen on her cheeks.

"I dropped you off about ten minutes ago. That's enough time for you to drop your stuff and drop your clothes."

"Ten minutes...House, you're driving?"

"Not at the moment. I'm at a stop sign. Now I'm driving."

She can hear the roar of his motorcycle and wonders how he is holding a cell phone and steering. She inquires.

"Got one of those earpiece thingies. Great for when you need your hands free."

There's something about the way he says that particular statement that brings the color back to her face in a rush. She retaliates, slipping into her tub with an audible splash.

"What was that?"

"Just taking a bath. I have jell-o all over me." She smiles as she hears his breathing catch over the phone.

"You should. I put it there," he replies smugly.

"And now I'm taking it all off," she purrs, splashing a bit more.

He swallows.

"Too bad you left. It's all over my back and it's so hard to get off." In her mind, she sees him shifting uncomfortably on his bike.

"I can always turn the bike around," he offers, only half-joking.

She groans inwardly, wanting to suggest the very same thing, but she can't. It's too soon. If she gave in now, the puzzle would lose its appeal.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. I would be out by the time you got here," she replies, wishing she could come up with something flirty in return.

"Right."

The pause grows awkward.

"Cameron," he begins.

"Yes?" She is still now, her breathing uneven. The bubbles in her tub have begun to disperse.

"About tonight..." His voice is almost nervous.

"Yes?"

She doesn't get to hear his thoughts, however. In her eagerness, her grasp loosened and the phone slipped into the tub, hitting the bottom with a dull thunk.

Swearing, she fishes it out.

"Hello? Hello?"

A blank screen is her only answer.

/\/\/\/\

"I had fun tonight," House admits, waiting for her reply. He wishes he could see her face. He can always read her so much better in person.

There is no response.

"Hello?" he asks as he parks his bike. Taking off his helmet, he taps the earpiece.

"Phone trouble? Maybe that explains why you didn't get any of my fifteen calls. This L Word was supposed to be good, too," Wilson says, leaning against his front door. A case of beer sits at his feet. His arms are folded across his chest and he looks cross.

"Sorry, was a little busy jell-o wrestling with hot babes," House says, opening the door and letting himself in.

"Wait, what? With Cameron?"

"You know any other hot babes?" House says, swiping a beer and waving Wilson inside.

"Ah, that's right. Your brilliant plan to bring her to her knees. How's that working for you?" Wilson says, taking his own beer and sprawling on the couch.

"Very well. She was all over me," House smirks. "Got her all hot and bothered."

"Mmm, and this didn't get you..."

"If it did, you wouldn't be here right now," House points out. It takes Wilson a moment for understanding to sink in.

"You'd call a hooker when you're dating Cameron?" he asks.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asks as he peels off his sticky shirt and throws it at Wilson.

"Ah ha! You," Wilson says triumphantly, "didn't correct me when I said dating. You do like her."

House rolls his eyes. "We go out, we have a good time. That defines dating. You should be more worried about the fact that I would still call Sonia."

His socks just missed Wilson's ear.

"Very funny. Come on, you've been into her for a while."

"Sonia? Many times."

Wilson winces. "And there's an image I didn't need."

House scowls slightly. "Then stop asking."

Wilson raises his hands in defeat. "Fine, just don't come crying to me when she breaks your heart. And take off your jeans in the other room."

Shaking his head, House limps into his bathroom and turns on the shower.

Wilson swears as the aforementioned jeans fly through the bathroom doorway into the back of his head.

Only after his body is lathered with soap and the TV is blaring in the other room does he allow himself a small smile.

_And that's chapter eight! Hope everyone liked it. I'm definitely back on track with this story, so expect more frequent updates (or beat me over the head for them). Please leave a review as you go. Oh, and that shower will be making a few more appearances in future chapters._


	9. Chapter 9

_Well this chapter came as a bit of a surprise to me. Didn't really plan on this happening, but I'll write it in. Let me know what you think._

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Nine_

"Another twenty?"

House's smile is just wide enough to unnerve Wilson.

"I fold."

The cards slide towards Wilson with careful precision.

"A pair of twos," he says, shaking his head. "You bluffed me with a pair of twos."

"You have an honest face, Jimmy," House replies, raking the chips into a precarious pile guaranteed to drive Wilson crazy for the next two hands.

The doorbell rings. Wilson raises his eyebrows.

"Pizza?"

House doesn't get up, only gestures for Wilson to shuffle the cards.

"Take out?"

House rolls his eyes.

"Gimme the cards and pull a chair over."

"I didn't know you were expecting company," he says as the door opens. Cameron walks in, her auburn hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

"Hey House, Wilson." She greets them awkwardly and sets a case of beer on the table. It creaks under the added weight.

House slides a stack of chips over to her. "Buy in is five, antes increase from there. Since you're starting low, feel free to wager clothes."

"Funny," she says, giving him a mock-glare.

The cards are dealt in silence.

"So Cameron...this is different," Wilson says. House gives him a look indicating he is to shut up.

In typical Wilson fashion, he barrels on towards his own destruction.

"Well, not different so much as...different. You two," he says, gesturing with his beer, "I didn't see this coming."

"Shut up and play, Wilson," House says, carefully avoiding Cameron's look.

"No, I think it's good we talk about it. Wilson's concerned about you with good reason," she says, patting him on the shoulder.

House's eyes widen and he chokes on a sip of beer.

"What exactly-" he begins.

"Shut up House. We're talking," she says sweetly, angling her cards away from his curious eyes.

"Wilson, I promise not to abuse him any more than is necessary to keep him in line," Cameron says, her voice silky.

"There are all kinds of abuse, Cameron. What exactly are we talking here?"

Her smile is knowing, sexual.

Predatory.

Wilson gulps.

"Ante up," House says, a bit offended at having been left out of the conversation.

They flip cards and place bets in silence.

"Cameron, can I ask you something?" Wilson says finally, rolling his shoulders until they pop.

"Of course."

"What changed? I mean, he's been such an ass to you for such a long time. Why now? You're not even working with him."

"Hey! I'm in the room, you know," House scowls.

Though he may as well not be, seeing how engrossed Wilson is in waiting for Cameron's answer.

She slides her own bet in thoughtfully before responding.

He doesn't show it, but House is just as eager to hear her reasoning.

"Well, it was all very spontaneous."

True enough.

"I hadn't seen him for, what, three months?" she says, looking at House for the first time.

He nods.

"Thought so. He just showed up and..." she trails off, biting her lip.

Wilson leans forward, grinning impishly. "What?"

Cameron's guarded expression melts into a vulnerable facade. "Oh, it was just the most romantic thing. He had flowers and a gondola and his guitar and we fed each other strawberries and sang songs until the sun rose."

A bark of laughter from House cuts the silence.

Wilson sighs and throws his cards on the table. "I'm not kidding. You are the two most self-destructive people I know."

"It's your bet," Cameron murmurs.

House snorts. "Says the man with three divorces under his belt."

Wilson raises his hands in self-defense. "I'm not denying I've made poor decisions, but I know why I made them. Something has changed between the two of you. I thought Cameron would at least be sane enough to recognize the danger that presents, but I guess you've warped her too."

Their eyes meet, House's filled with anger and Wilson's with self-righteous indignation.

"He hasn't warped me, Wilson," Cameron retorts. "I'm the same person I've always been. I'm just growing up."

"Right," Wilson says, his gaze frank. "Are you so sure?"

The tension grows unbearable and, after gathering his coat and beer, Wilson leaves, muttering to himself.

The door slams a second later.

Cameron coughs.

"Well that was awkward," House says finally.

"Just a bit."

With a groan, he reaches across the table to flip Wilson's cards over.

A straight flush smiles up at him.

"Damn."

_Like I said, didn't see Wilson's extreme disapproval coming. However, I think I can tie this in...(grins evilly)_


	10. Chapter 10

1_It's been three months since I've seen you...three months since I've updated this fanfic. Okay, four months._

_Drowning in Blue - Chapter Ten_

The silence between them is thick, heavy with expectation. Finally, Cameron speaks.

"Why do you think Wilson was so angry?" She phrases the question carefully, as if the answer doesn't really concern her.

"_You are the two most self-destructive people I know."_

The words seem to swirl lazily in the air.

"I don't know," House growls.

Cameron is concerned. Perhaps Wilson is more perceptive than she gives him credit for.

She doesn't think she has changed. Sure, she has grown more assertive, but that comes with age and experience.

Unless...

Could Wilson have sensed her plans to break House's heart? He had been through it enough - maybe he could smell betrayal like a dog smells fear.

The corner of her mouth takes an ironic turn upward. She glances at House. His brow is furrowed, but his face is clear of the suspicion that had clouded Wilson's.

Ten minutes later, they have said their goodbyes and she is in her car, driving home.

At work the next day, she pretends she doesn't see Wilson out of the corner of her eye as she picks glass from a child's knee. She soothes the little girl - yes, the antiseptic burns. Her whispers and smile are cool balm and soon the child is smiling and sucking on a yellow lollipop.

"Cameron, do you have a minute?"

She sighs silently as she cleans her station. "Sure. What can I do for you, James."

His thick eyebrows draw together as he studies her open face. "I have to ask. Do you still love him?"

Cameron raises her own eyebrows in an expression reminiscent of House.

"That's kind of a personal question."

"And all you have to do is answer yes or no," he replies smartly.

She busies herself with some paperwork. "James, what goes on between House and myself is of no concern to you." She smiles, trying to lighten the mood. "Afraid I'm going to steal away your best friend?"

His frown deepens. "Allison, I think you're setting yourself up for disaster. You did a good thing by leaving his team. He has to learn how to grow up. He can't do that with you around."

She thinks of the feel of House's scruff against her neck, the whisper of his fingers against her face. He seems entirely grown up to her.

"Besides, I thought you were seeing Chase."

"Chase?" she replies, her tone dismissive. "Chase was...fun. I'm looking for something more than that now."

Wilson's eyebrows shoot to his hairline. "And of all people, you think House is the person to settle down with? Are you going to take the kids to the park before or after he has his Vicodin?"

Frustrated, Allison stands. "I don't recall mentioning kids, James. In fact, I don't recall asking for your approval at all. Leave the relationship advice to someone who actually had a successful marriage." She turns to walk away.

"Oh, for all of six months!"

She freezes. It takes her a moment to regain her footing.

"And how long did it take for yours to fall apart?" she replies, her tone icy. The sharp click click click of her heels echoes down the hall.

She will need to work on this. If she ever hopes to master House, she'll have to learn how to become his new best friend.

* * *

She is both thrilled and ashamed that she is pulling an old trick of House's: hiding in the clinic. All that is missing is a red lollipop.

The door opens and she jumps.

"Shh," House says, pressing himself against the door in mock terror.

She simply raises a bemused eyebrow at him as she hears a thump and a muffled curse. "Damn it, House!"

Reluctantly, House steps forward and allows the door to open. One of his ever-present interns walks in, holding her nose.

"You're so lucky that it isn't broken," she says, her 's' and 't' muted with pain.

"Oh come on. You're in a hospital," House grumbles, swinging himself onto the exam table. His arm is warm against Cameron's.

The other woman seems to register her presence for the first time. "I wasn't aware you had a patient, Dr. House."

Cameron opens her mouth to reply, but House cuts her off.

"Yes," he says. "Ms. Cameron and I were just discussing the finer points of the implantation of cells into animals for testing. I, of course, am all for it, but Ms. Cameron remains unconvinced."

"Fur is murder," Allison says helpfully. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees House smile.

"Right..." the intern says. "House, I need your approval for-"

"Done," House says, waving his hand.

"But you didn't-"

"Approved. Now go and slice and dice or whatever it is you're going to do."

Slowly, the woman backs out of the room.

"And watch out for doors!" House calls after her.

One look at each other and both dissolve into laughter.

"Gotta love interns," House says, squeezing Cameron's shoulder.

"I can't believe I was ever that naive," she says ruefully.

"You were very bright-eyed," House agrees. "Though I don't recall a bushy tail."

"You were looking?" she asks, amused.

"But," he continues, "you've toughened up. Want to grab a drink later?"

His words warm her more than any drink ever could, but she agrees.

Six hours later, the alcohol in her blood makes his words all the more amusing. He has her pinned against the doorframe and when his hips press against hers, the laughter dies on her lips.

"You owe me another secret," he whispers, his eyes dark.

"You'll have to get me a lot drunker than that if you expect me to talk," she giggles.

His uncharacteristic abstinence from his alcohol tonight did not go unnoticed by her.

"I was hoping you would tell me out of the goodness of your heart."

She smiles. "House, I worked for you for three years. I don't have a heart anymore."

"Really?" He lowers his lips to her neck. "Then what's this pulse doing here?"

She laughs again and squirms away, fishing for her keys.

As she turns her back on him, he closes the distance between them and slips his hands over her hips.

"House." The very whisper of the word brings warmth to the chilly air.

"Invite me in." It is a request, not an order.

Her door opens and she steps inside, away from the warmth of his hands, away from the heat of his gaze. Expectantly, he toes the line of her doorstep. An idle memory flickers to the surface of Allison's mind - vampires cannot be let in without invitation. She smiles involuntarily. While he has certainly discovered a newfound fascination with her neck, Greg House is no vampire.

"Good night, House," she says softly, closing the door.

She pauses. After her display of self-control, she is unsure of where to go next.

A minute later, the angry sounds of her doorbell echoes through her living room. It is all the louder because she has not yet moved from the doorframe.

She opens the door and he is kissing her, his fingers digging insistently into each side of her face. It is the kiss of desperation, of longing. It is the kiss soaked with fevered glances, little touches and the unmistakable tang of lust mingled with Vicodin. It is the kiss that is unrefined in delivery, a simple clash of teeth and tongue. It is enough to send a hot tightening to her core.

And it is better this way. For once, Allison does not let herself feel the shame that follows when she acknowledges that she wants him.

Because he wants her too.


	11. Chapter 11

_Gasp! An update! Alright folks, I've got my second wind and I'm going to work this to the end in roughly...six chapters._

_Drowning in Blue_

_Chapter Eleven_

"You kissed her?"

House sighs into his coffee. It is far too early in the morning for this.

"Try saying it a little louder. I'm sure pediatrics didn't hear you," House mutters.

"And why am I just now finding out? It's been three days!"

If it was anyone else, House would be amused. But it is Wilson who is standing next to him, his eyes wide.

It is Wilson who cannot seem to find words to speak.

"Jealous, Jimmy? Look, if the Ice Queen you're dating isn't giving you any love, don't take it out on me."

He doesn't think it's possible, but Wilson's eyes open ever further.

"You had sex?!"

Several nurses turn to see what is going on.

House fights the urge tod rag Wilson into an exam room and tape his mouth shut.

"If you must know, we didn't have sex. We just made out. A lot."

Wilson's eyes narrow. "And you're okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Wilson shrugs. "I just thought you'd want to be in her pants right now. I mean, if you're playing her."

"I am playing her," he says defensively. "Building suspense."

"Right." Wilson seems unconvinced.

As he walks away, House wonders where that small seed of doubt came from.

He decides to go visit Cameron. Cameron will make sense. Cameron won't judge him.

Cameron brushes past him without so much as a word.

So much for making sense.

When he finally gets her alone, she is cold, unresponsive.

He queries.

"I can't believe you could even have the audacity to ask me what's wrong after you forgot."

House is confused. "Forgot what?"

Cameron turns to face him and in her eyes is resentment.

"We changed our shifts so we could take your bike up to Maine. We were going on a day trip. I was packed yesterday and waited and you never showed. But whatever. I guess it wasn't important."

"And when was this?"

"Yesterday!" Cameron explodes. "You were going to pick me up yesterday!"

House frowns. "Did you call me?"

Cameron steps back, shaking her head. "You had a day off, Greg. What did you do that made you forget?"

House pauses again. He remembers with vivid detail what he had done last night.

Got high.

Played piano.

Slept.

"Well?" she demands.

"I..got high," he says slowly.

Allison straightens, bracing herself against the exam bed. "Well thanks, House."

House juts his chin out. "You knew about it."

"What, your habit? Yeah, I knew. Maybe I just thought that you'd cut back for me...for us. I had no idea you'd stay as selfish inside our relationship as you did outside."

The exam room door clicks softly on her way out, sharply contrasting with the anger of her words.

A passing nurse wonders why Allison Cameron is smiling so broadly.

**2:13 a.m.**

"God damnit, Allison, open your window!" he snaps, hurling another pebble. Vainly, it falters, falling short of her third story window. Briefly, he contemplates tossing the golf-ball sized clump of concrete before deciding it probably won't help matters.

Besides, her window has opened and a very annoyed Cameron peers out.

"What do you want, House?"

"I hit the buzzer. Let me come up."

She folds her hands under her chin. "Go away, House."

"Not until you let me come up," he insists, nudging the chunk of concrete with the end of his cane.

She stares at him long enough for him to shift uncomfortably, then disappears into her room. A moment later, he hears the lock on the ground floor door demagnitize and limps toward it as quickly as he can. The tips of his fingers catch it just before it locks again.

The main lobby of her apartment building is clean-smelling, impersonal. He reflects on the braid of the reddish carpet as he waits for the elevator to descend.

It is very ugly carpet.

It reminds him of fresh blood, blood that is pushed out of an open chest, blood that rises over his fingertips as he presses them over a car accident victim, a child's knee, a head wound in a biker.

He blinks as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. All visions of attempted healing fade as he steps into the elevator.

Hesitantly, he fixes his eyes on the floor.

Ah. Linoleum. He is safe.

This flooring is much more...neutral. It is a pale peach, curling in the corner of the elevator where one too many drunken pisses has separated it from its backing. He sees the outline of a muddy shoe and follows the path of an imaginary body, settling on the unmistakable imprint of a human backside pressed against the cold metal.

Suddenly, the air is very stale. He feels ill.

This is the longest elevator ride of his life.

No sooner do the doors slide open and he is out, gasping for fresh air like a drowning man bobbing for one last sip of precious oxygen before his lungs crackle and empty.

He nearly runs into Allison's door.

He taps.

He waits.

"What," she growls on the other end of the frame. It is not a question.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"I said you could come up. I didn't say I'd look at you."

House lowers his gaze. Somehow, the hideous carpet had followed him up here. It pulsed under his stare. If he let his gaze relax just a bit, he could see the cocktail of vicodin and alcohol that currently swam through his veins reflected back up at him.

Since his drunken decision making has worked out so very well in the past, he decides a different route is in order.

"Let me in! I'll blow your damn door down."

"Not like this." He barely hears her near-whisper through the thick door.

"Why not?"

"You're in pain."

"No, I'm high on vicodin."

"I don't want you when you're high."

"Why not? You did Chase when you were high."

"I don't love Chase."

Now he really wants to see her, if only to read the vulnerability in her open blue eyes.

He steps forward, placing his hand on the door. "Allison, open the door."

He is prepared for her anger.

He is prepared for her disgust.

He is even prepared for her tears.

But nothing prepared him to open the door and see Allison Cameron facing him, wearing nothing but a smile.

_As always, reviews are appreciated! Who wants smut in the next chapter? Feel free to raise your hands. See you in chapter twelve!_


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